


If I Fall Along The Way

by GlassRain



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Amateur BDSM, Angry Homura, Catharsis, F/F, Psychological Trauma, Spanking, presumably aged up characters, tearing off clothes, title is a Matchbox 20 lyric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 07:49:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8524693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassRain/pseuds/GlassRain
Summary: Homura knew she couldn't reasonably blame her friends for not listening to her. Not when their understanding and experience reset to zero every time she restarts the timeline.But it sure would be cathartic if one version of Madoka realized she was a bad girl who deserved a spanking.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Contains slapping and spanking and general kinkiness, as a consensual response to a traumatic situation. I didn't specify ages so you can read it as an AU where they're older teenagers if you want.

The witch had Homura pinned in a glacier, a pine-branch missile speeding toward her throat.

Everything but her head and one foot was frozen in the mid-leap position where the blast had caught her. Even her hair was trapped so that turning her head too far would rip it out. She'd had time stopped for almost five minutes now, trying to free an arm, to reach inside her shield, to do anything that would shatter the prison or deflect the missile. No luck. All her powers of dodging and trickery were worth exactly nothing once she was caught.

How had she been so careless? Even knowing Madoka was in the barrier -- _especially_ knowing Madoka was in the barrier -- Homura shouldn't have been distracted. Should have destroyed the witch first, not treated it as inconsequential just because she'd watched it explode eight or nine dozen times before.

At least Madoka was out.

Neither Kyoko nor Sayaka would make it in time to save Homura, but this witch wouldn't get Madoka. And maybe this time she would take Homura's warnings to heart and get out of the city before Walpurgis Night. Turn those big rosy eyes on her parents and plead for an impromptu weekend vacation. Or show one of those flashes of initiative that seemed to come out of nowhere (at least, unless you knew Madoka as well as Homura did) and steal a credit card and get on a plane.

It had never happened before but Homura had to convince herself, had to believe . . .

She closed her eyes, twisted her head as far as she could in hopes that her skull would take the missile better than her neck, and let the clocks start ticking again.

A meter from her face, the pine missile exploded in a shower of pink sparks.

The pink arrow didn't stop there. It lanced straight through the target and flew on to strike the clawed, faceless mass of snow-covered fur. Ice-sculpture familiars and bare dark branches dipersed in an instant, leaving Homura on the bank of a canal during a balmy spring evening.

Madoka landed on the edge of the road above her and took a couple of flailing steps down the grassy embankment. "Homura! Are you okay?"

Something roared in Homura's ears. "You idiot!" she screamed over the noise. "You were safe!"

Madoka skidded to a stop. Her cherry-red heels left divots in the turf. "You're angry."

"Of course I'm angry!" Homura's fists shook with emotion. "You didn't listen, you _never_ listen, I went to all this trouble to make sure you were safe and you go and throw that away again and again and again --"

"Bet you could slap me right now."

"I _could_ slap you right now!" cried Homura.

Madoka nodded. All the bows around her cute round face framed a dead-serious expression. "Catch me first."

She took off running.

Without even thinking Homura launched herself in Madoka's slipstream, her own sharp heels tearing up the grass. She didn't need to freeze time. Madoka's flailing gait, stumbling and baby-deer cute, was easy to catch up to. And it felt good, the wind in her face and the burn in her muscles as she pushed them to the limit for the first time all timeline.

She lunged and caught Madoka in a graceless tackle, making Madoka cry out before the breath got knocked out of her in a crash of earth and petticoats. If they weren't magic the grass stains would never be coming out of her frilly knee socks and little white gloves.

"Why did you save me?" yelled Homura, pushing herself upright with a bruising elbow jammed between Madoka's shoulder blades, knees pinning the billowing pink skirts on either side of her hips. She stopped time, freezing the water in the canal and the clouds in the sky, leaving nothing in the grey stillness that could interrupt the two of them. "You were out of there, I got you out, I told you to run! Why didn't you listen?"

She smacked Madoka across the back of her skull, jostling the perfect pink twintails, leaving one messy and loose with stray loops of hair pulled from the ribbon.

"-- and why aren't you _stopping me?_ "

Homura grabbed the disheveled twintail in her fist and wrested Madoka's head so the girl was almost facing her. Long black hair fell on either side of her own face, tunnelling her vision. She didn't flip it back even though a flash of magic would have put it to rights in a second.

"You have enough power to level the city right now! _Why are you letting me hit you?_ "

Madoka's pink eye darted everywhere except toward Homura. "I know. Homura, I know everything. I wished to be able to help you."

Homura's grip didn't slacken, but she stopped yanking. Stopped moving at all except for the heaving of her chest under the jet-black diamonds of her collar. "You -- what?"

"You love me, but for years now you've been angry with me too. And you've not been able to express it. Because I can only ever let you down once in a timeline, but you're angry with the me who's let you down dozens of times over, a me who doesn't really exist except in your memories."

Hearing it spelled out in such a clear and calm way from Madoka's own lips left Homura powerless to deny it. "I -- I shouldn't," she said instead. "I ought to be better than this, I ought --"

"You can't hold all this in forever! Maybe you'll lose control in the next loop. Or five loops from now. Or ten. What if it happens when I've not contracted? What I'm powerless when you see my face one day and all your memories come crashing down at once and your self-restraint snaps --"

Homura slammed her head down into the dirt.

A wave of self-loathing flooded her body but was just barely too weak to beat back her fury that Madoka was _saying_ these things, making her unable to pretend she didn't think them, forcing her to think about what if Madoka hadn't the magic to instantly heal any bone structure that Homura smashed.

"It wouldn't matter," she said, in a hollow distant voice that she barely knew as her own. The heel of her hand pushed heavily into Madoka's scalp. "I would reset time and I would fix it. I could kill you in the school courtyard and reset time and nobody would know."

"You would know."

Homura said nothing.

"You won't do it," added Madoka. "You won't have to. I'm right here, Homura. The me you're really angry at is here. I know everything I've done -- how I've hurt you -- how I've been bad."

Haltingly, Homura agreed. "You've been very bad."

"You can't hurt me too much by accident. Not right now. I'm too magic. And it was part of my wish."

Again Homura kept as quiet as the frozen-grey surface of the canal.

"But I do need to be punished," said Madoka.

With dreamlike detachment Homura sat up, letting go of Madoka's mussed hair and rumpled costume. "You do," she said slowly. "You ought to be _spanked_."

"You'd better hold me down," said Madoka matter-of-factly, and tried to wriggle out from being sat on.

A firm hand grabbing the back of her collar, with its heart-shaped cutout in the pink fabric, put a stop to that. Homura did get up, long diamond-patterned legs unbending, but only so she could re-position and get access to Madoka's skirts. She pinned Madoka with a knee to the small of the back and held the pink fabric petals in one fist whilst she grabbed a handful of white and started tearing.

It felt so very good to tear up these horrible Precure frills for the lies they were.

Homura's sphere of influence was tight and narrow. Shreds of fabric flew outside it as she tossed them aside and froze in place, hanging in the air like so many feathers. Madoka kicked and struggled but not hard, not nearly as hard as she could have. Before Homura knew it there was nothing left but shredded scraps of fabric around a pure-white pair of underpants, with tiny frills at the hem and a little pink heart perched atop the curves of her butt.

One kicking heel nearly caught Homura in the arm. She grabbed Madoka's ankle and wrenched the red ballet shoe off, then did the same with the other, throwing both shoes so they "landed" in midair a few inches above the surface of the water.

"Bad girl," said Homura firmly, and landed an open-handed smack across the ripest curve.

Madoka squealed, less in pain than flustered shock.

"You don't listen!"

Another smack.

"You make contracts!"

Another, this one across the back of the thigh.

"You put yourself in danger so I have to save you!"

Another, hands leaving matching red stamps on Madoka's pale skin.

"You get yourself killed so I have to start all over!"

Homura spanked Madoka's ass several more times, then, unsatisfied, pinched a fold of the white cotton and yanked it upward. Madoka had stopped crying out, but she did it again now as the fabric was yanked taut between her legs, elastic seams hiked up and over so her curves were bared to the air.

"You've turned into a witch! Even when I warned you -- you make a contract -- and do that -- and I have to watch!" Homura punctuated every phrase with a fresh smack. Madoka let out short staccato cries each time, no longer even pretending to struggle, squeaking like a chew toy getting stomped on. "I've lived -- three years now -- in the same month -- over -- and over -- because you die -- or you contract -- won't follow orders -- won't be a good girl!"

She rained down slaps until Madoka's skin was red all over, until it was hot to the touch.

When she started running low on the litany of accusations, Madoka choked out, "I'm sorry! You're so good to me. I only cause you trouble. I deserve this. I don't deserve you."

Something in the catching of her voice made a burning spike of the low heat between Homura's legs. "You're lucky -- I love you! No matter what -- a bad girl you are -- I'll always protect you!"

Her smacks caught the cleft of Madoka's ass, then on some mix of instinct and half-felt sensation she landed her hand there and pushed her fingers downward. The fabric between Madoka's legs was wet, the skin underneath hot and soft.

"You like this!" accused Homura.

Madoka squeezed her thighs together, which only squeezed Homura's fingers between them.

"Is that part of your wish? Part of how I can't hurt you?" Homura pushed her fingers into the squishy flesh and felt Madoka go all tremors, like traffic rattling a highway overpass. "Or were you always like this? Is it just that you like to be spanked?"

"I don't know." Suddenly Madoka's voice was wobbling and it didn't feel like it was for Homura's benefit. "I don't think I ought to like it. Not when I've been bad. I'm sorry."

Homura tried to think about it. A panoply of mental images filling her brain made that hard. She put all thought aside and went back to acting on raw unfiltered emotion. "Is that why you do it? Are you a brat because you want that much to make me punish you? Spread your legs apart."

"I --"

Homura pulled her hand free and slapped Madoka's butt again.

Shivering all over, Madoka spread her thighs. Homura groped aimlessly in her shield for a few seconds before changing her mind and pulling her soul gem from the back of her hand. The purple faceted diamond in its gold setting came off easily at her will. She ran it over Madoka's bare skin -- Madoka gasped as the hard flat surface scraped against where she was tenderest from the spanking -- then held it between Madoka's legs, pressing it under Madoka's body and upward.

"This is what it means to be a magical girl," snapped Homura. "I know what to do --"

A pulse of magical force went through the gem, making Madoka writhe and cry out in mingled pain and pleasure.

"-- I have the right to give orders --"

"Yes, Homura!" panted Madoka, hips moving of their own accord.

Homura rubbed roughly at her through the damp fabric. "-- and you have to listen!"

"Yes!" cried Madoka. "I'll listen, I'll be good, I'll --"

Her voice devolved into incoherence as her hips shook more violently, and she wailed into the vast grey stillness as Homura's magic thrummed against her, harder and fiercer, again and again.

She collapsed the second Homura let go, lying limp and weak as a kitten in the grass. Homura immediately reached under her own modest skirt and pressed the slick gem to the front of her stockings. Her free hand was braced on Madoka's back, less to hold Madoka down than to prop herself up as she rocked into the magic. "You're a bad girl, you've been such a bad girl, but you'll be good for me, yes --!"

The climax came in seconds, running down her legs like an electric shock and making her toes curl in her pumps.

Eventually the iron tautness of her own muscles started to slacken, heart still pounding wildly in her heaving chest. She felt . . . she felt . . .

. . . release. A sense, no matter how temporary, of calm.

Madoka could have rolled over easily now. Instead she only turned her head to look up at Homura. Waiting.

"I don't want to leave," said Homura weakly.

Madoka gave her a shy smile. "You liked it?"

"Yes!" Letting her self-control go and her emotions run free, having Madoka finally understand her . . . leaving Madoka marked with her handprints. "But you're a magical girl -- so I have to start all over --"

"Not yet, right?"

"No . . . but . . . "

"And the rest of this timeline . . . it doesn't matter anymore?"

"No."

Now Madoka did roll over, sitting up, and Homura's heart beat faster at the visible wince as her well-spanked bottom rested on the grass. Her skirts were dirty but un-shredded in the front, giving her a ragged kind of modesty. "Then you can take me home and keep me. If you want."

Skipping school . . . not caring what her family might think . . . maybe even disappearing to a resort or a nice tropical island, and doing whatever Homura wanted until Walpurgis Night arrived. The more Homura thought about it, the more she liked it.

Best to start with home, though.

"Stay transformed," she ordered. Madoka's cute after-school clothes would involve an intact skirt. Although she might tear it off later, right now she wanted to relish the sight of Madoka's shredded magical-girl costume, the stocking feet and loose ribbons and tattered skirts letting the cool air flow over her still-heated skin.

"Yes, Homura." Madoka obediently let Homura gather her into a princess carry. "I'll be good."

"You've been very good." Homura kissed her on the forehead. "Keep it up."

Because she couldn't keep time stopped indefinitely, she let it unpause, just long enough for Madoka's shoes to fall into the canal with a soft _gloop_. Madoka gasped at the daring of it, then relaxed into Homura's arms when the world went grey again, so they could weave their way through crowded streets and have Madoka shiver with secret thrill whilst none of the frozen figures saw a thing.


End file.
